In the Springtime of His Voodoo
by desolate butterfly
Summary: [OrochimaruKimimaro] 'He was going to show me spring...' Orochimaru instructs Kimimaro in the useful properties of some flowers and lessons are taken to heart.


Title: In the Springtime of His Voodoo  
Author: desolate butterfly  
Genre: Angst/gen  
Pairing: OroKimi  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Orochimaru instructs Kimimaro on the useful qualities of certain flowers.

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_  
(In the beginning, the lessons were subtle.)_

Orochimaru took him for walks in the morning, when the sun was just rising and the woods and fields of Rice Country were still and sleepy with the dawn. Kimimaro loved those quiet moments: with the breeze sliding through his hair as softly as his master's smooth fingertips he could almost forget those endless days of the cave and his entrapment, that it was ever once difficult to stand at his full height, or that his hunger and thirst had ever driven him to delirium and desperate attempts to suck moisture from the cavern walls.

He carried Orochimaru's fond smile with him as he bent to caress the petals of yet another flower.

"What is this one, Orochimaru-sama?"

The man gave it a quick glance. "That is buttercup. Very pretty, but not especially useful, unless you wish to give someone a rather nasty blister. Neither a healing plant, nor particularly effective as a poison."

"Oh." Kimimaro frowned and retracted his touch from the glossy yellow petals, which didn't seem so enthralling now that they had been proven to be an unworthy specimen in his master's eyes.

Orochimaru's hand descended on his shoulder and Kimimaro coloured faintly at the touch. He still hadn't gotten used to the feeling of another person's hands on him, though he doubted he would ever tire of it.

"Here, Kimimaro-kun." Orochimaru bent beside him and cupped his chin softly, directing his gaze to another flowering plant. "Do you see that?"

He nodded, eyes immediately drawn to the purple thistle, bristling out in sharp spikes of colour.

"That is No-Azami," Orochimaru said. "Somewhat useful, as it can be used to stem a bleeding wound, or even heal internal bleeding. Though it is no substitute for a competent medic-nin, of course."

"Should we gather some?"

Orochimaru threaded his fingers through Kimimaro's hair and he tipped his head back obediently, leaning into the touch.

"I think Kabuto might be insulted if we brought these back with us," the older man decided finally, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Besides which, they aren't very pretty. I like to surround myself with beautiful things when I have the choice."

Kimimaro nodded and they moved on in silence for a while, their footsteps creating soft rushing noises in the tall grasses. Orochimaru had only recently given Kimimaro a small trinket to tie into his hair and the weight of it swinging against his temple with each step was extremely satisfying: so satisfying that he almost missed the small white flower peeking up out of the loamy soil at his feet.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" Orochimaru's hand on his wrist pulled him back a pace and Kimimaro said a silent hello to a familiar flower.

"What is it called?"

"Camellia. It holds much of the same healing properties as No-Azami: it works well in salves and poultices. The perfect flower. It is both useful and beautiful. Actually, Kimimaro-kun…" Orochimaru smiled. "…this flower reminds me of you. A very precious treasure indeed. We're lucky to find it here, unexpectedly."

At that moment, Kimimaro knew that he could die for this man and not feel a moment's regret.

"O-Orochimaru-sama, you are too kind," he mumbled through the thickness in his throat. He reached out a hand hesitantly and rejoiced when the other man caught it gently with his own, stroking the palm.

"Nonsense. I'm only telling the truth. You will be my perfect treasure, Kimimaro, and very useful to me in the future."

"I hope I can live up to your expectations of me, Orochimaru-sama."

"I have no doubts, child. Now," the hand left his with a final pat, "cut this flower and we will walk back to the compound. I'm sure Kabuto is beginning to wonder where we are by now."

Kimimaro's eyes widened. "We're going to take it back with us?"

"I find myself wanting it near me at this time," Orochimaru said. "It will adorn our tea table nicely, won't it?"

Kimimaro looked at the small plant, its delicate petals nodding in the breeze, and frowned.

"If I cut it, it will die."

"Yes," Orochimaru said. "But its death will be beneficial to me, and that makes its fleeting life all the more precious and beautiful, don't you think, Kimimaro-kun?"

"I…yes, of course."

"Besides," the other man continued as he turned away, "the camellia knows that its sacrifice is necessary and is grateful for the opportunity to do something meaningful besides shrivel in this field when the next frost arrives."

For a second Kimimaro doubted that the flower knew any such thing, only that the sun was warm, the ground was cool, and that the sharp bone dagger at its root would strip its life in an instant. But then he pushed such traitorous thoughts from his head and quickly sliced the stem at its base.

The sticky sap spread out from the cut end over his fingers, and Kimimaro couldn't help but compare it to the flow of blood over his hands. He held the flower close to his chest, then stood and followed Orochimaru back to the base.

_(In the end, they are just lessons, and he learns them well.)_

Kimimaro receives the Earth Seal. It is more painful than anything he's ever endured, and yet he can't help but be proud of the black markings on his chest blossoming outwards across his skin like the rose petals the float gracefully in bowls around Orochimaru's private rooms.

He lies on pillows and mats beside Orochimaru's bed while they wait for his body to either accept the seal or reject it and kill him. Beside him Kabuto monitors things like temperature and heart rate. Above him Orochimaru sits and sips hyssop tea. Every so often he will ask Kimimaro how he feels and Kimimaro always says the same thing: he is grateful, so very grateful to be chosen.

Later, when the delirium of the fever sets in, someone spreads a sweet-smelling ointment on Kimimaro's chest and the pain stops for a few blessed minutes.

When he wakes again, it's to the familiar grind of bones rearranging themselves beneath his skin and Orochimaru's soft hands on his shoulders.

Unintentionally, Kimimaro flails and knocks one of the ornate bowls from its place beside Orochimaru's bed. The Sannin only laughs at his panicked look of shame and tells him that an inexpensive piece of crockery is a small price to pay for the service Kimimaro will provide him in the future.

As Kimimaro sifts through the broken shards of porcelain, his fingers brush the blackened, dried rose petals and they crumble to dust at his touch.

He wonders if Orochimaru would consider the death of the roses to be beautiful.

--

fin

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**Author's Notes:** Flowers often have certain meanings depending upon their colour and type, as well as medicinal properties. The ones I've used here are somewhat significant: The buttercup means "childishness" and camellias in general represent "gratitude", while white camellias signify perfection and beauty. Roses, of course, represent love: red roses being romantic love, white roses being pure love, and yellow,orange, peach roses tending towards a more relaxed or friendship-based kind of love. No-Azami is a thistle, and doesn't have a specific meaning attached to it, though there are legends attahced to certain kinds of thistle.


End file.
